


Sweet Bourbon

by SinGrin



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Slash, Recovery, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 22:45:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13961676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinGrin/pseuds/SinGrin
Summary: They say that one never truly recovers from their first love. Perhaps that isn't always a bad thing.





	Sweet Bourbon

They say you never truly get over your first love. The special one who made you want to be a person they deserved-- the one who let you believe that you actually could. It could be ten, twenty, thirty years down the line and you’d still be thinking about them every once in a while. James guesses that he’s proof of that. Throughout the past decade or so he still found his mind wandering back to that person. He wasn’t sure what about his situation called forth the memory, maybe some part of him just knew that if there was no glimmer of happiness in this dark world he’d just sink further into despair. So, as he lays with his back against the freezing concrete wall of the storage room turned makeshift cell, the messy stump of his arm still wrapped in bandages from more than two days ago, he allows his mind to stray from the bleakness, if only for a little while, to recall the only clear memory of when things seemed simple and made him happier for it.

Bucky’s face is half-buried in a bony shoulder. His lips, still buzzing from long, deep kisses and the scrape of stubble, are pressed against the slightly musty smelling fabric of a worn T-shirt. He kisses it with a soft smack and moves on to seek out skin. He finds it warm; smelling smoky and sweet, like the good Bourbon his mom saves for special occasions, and filling him with an even more potent form of giddiness. His hand slides up a lean side rucking up the shirt a little while the other strays just an inch or so under the leg hem of Tony’s jean shorts. Bucky’s pelvis digs into the soft flesh of Tony’s inner thighs making Bucky think about the small bruises he’d left in that exact spot with his mouth and hips just last night under the stars. A strong arm is wrapped loosely around his neck and a skilled hand traces a pattern on his shoulder as another trails over his ribs. They have this one, final day alone together and Bucky’s mostly successful in losing himself completely for the sake of savoring it. Being intertwined so closely at the base of the large oak tree near their camp site so far away from everything-- everyone else makes it easy to forget that this moment won’t last forever.  
He presses a kiss to Tony’s temple. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to keep myself from calling you every day.” He murmurs. Just to hear your voice. He thinks. But the addition feels unneeded, maybe even a little unwarranted.  
Tony tenses a little and pulls back in Bucky’s hold. A few days worth of stubble shades his jaw and his cherubic mop of dark brown hair is a little greasy from the three days it’s gone unwashed by anything other than lake water but Tony’s eyes are warm and his full lips curl into one of his sweet secret smiles revealing a flash of teeth.  
“Maybe I can help with that by calling you first.” His eyes are intent on Bucky’s face, the small halo of hazel-gold around his pupils are like suns painted on church walls. Bucky’s never bought into faith like his ma, but looking into Tony’s eyes is a pretty damn religious experience in his book. Those eyes are dancing with amusement and unbridled fondness. The summer breeze plays with his hair. The sun through the leaves hits a few stray strands, turning their tips a blazing amber. I’m going to make this guy my husband one day. Bucky thinks perhaps a little ridiculously. He reaches out and runs his thumb across the soft skin over Tony’s cheekbone.  
“Nothing would make me happier, Bright Eyes.” He says using the pet name he’d given Tony the very first day they’d met.  
“Then I’ll make sure to beat you to the punch every time, Troublemaker.” Tony answers sinking back into him to place three teasing kisses on Bucky’s lips. It’s one of the many ways they voice their feelings for one another. The words “I love you.” Haven't entered either of their vocabularies yet. They’re both 95% sure that the other might say it back but the remaining 5% of uncertainty is enough to sentence themselves to silence.  
Even now, Bucky doesn’t try to bring forth the words. He settles for memorizing every inch of Tony’s face. Soft lips and huge dark eyes that never failed to bring Bucky to his knees. He won’t see that face for at least a couple months after tomorrow. Tony has to go back down to Boston to submit his theses and then… maybe after that they can try for something more serious than the budding romance they’ve hoarded safely away from the rest of the world. But for now… For now Bucky can submerge himself in Tony’s eyes, Tony’s smell, Tony’s warmth and weight and pretend that he’ll never have to surface again.

James jerks out of his reminiscing when the sound of a door slamming down the hall catches his attention. He braces himself and waits for the next interrogation to begin as the knob to his cell door begins to turn. He sinks slowly into the grim mindset needed for what’s about to come, mind fortified by the memory of smiles made even sweeter by their rarity.

Two months later what’s left of James Buchanan Barnes is recovered from the bunker. He shakily wraps his remaining arm around ridiculously broad shoulders and half heartedly listens as Steve frantically reassures him that he’s safe. He’ll be fine. He’ll be fine. Everything will be good soon so hang on, Jerk.

James is so thin it hurts to look at himself. The sock-like thing on what’s left of his shoulder covers the worst of the scars. The lack of weight on his left side jars him every time he moves. James wonders if he’ll ever feel whole again. Steve tells him that he’ll be back stateside in a few weeks as soon as the docs give the all-clear for him to travel with his multitude of anticoagulants, pain meds, and psycho-sedatives. He’s a human cocktail-- shaken, not stirred. He feels sick amusement curl his mouth and on his thin face it looks much too sharp. Steve promises to join him once his tour is up. There are whispers that Captain Rogers isn’t fit for duty anymore and Bucky is selfishly hopeful for that to be the case, even though it probably means that Stevie’s as fucked up in the head as Bucky is in body.  
Steve’s rigid and fierce now, his eyes have aged decades in only seven years, but he finds kind words for Bucky who, when he can, returns them. He doesn’t hold back for Steve’s sake though. They’re brothers in everything but blood and name. Even if it hurts to open up he does every time he can manage it without crumbling. Steve doesn’t do the same. He holds back. Tries to be strong for Bucky and sometimes Bucky lashes out at him for it sometimes just to see if he can get past his old friend’s walls. Steve only digs in his heels further as a response. It isn’t fair. Nothing about the situation is. The thought sears through Bucky’s veins and he can’t hold onto his temper. Sometimes they devolve into screaming matches and sometimes they don’t speak at all for days while they try to ease away their anger at one another. They always find their way back together though. Because each of them is all the other really has right now.  
It’s during these lapses between Steve's visits and doctor’s appointments that Bucky finds his mind wandering back to his memories of Tony again. He knows a little of what the man has become. Some flashy stuffed suit on the news every other week for some scandal or business bullshit. He remembers bitterly thinking once after some sex tape leak that Tony’s turned out just like his old man. All sharp eyes and cocky smiles. The thought had hurt him more than it should have. It meant the man he’d fallen in love with all those years ago had changed into someone else entirely. Someone the young Tony had never wanted to be.  
But he’d already known that. He’s changed too after all and not just because of the 15 lbs of weight he’s dropped from his left side.

It was when Tony’s calls stopped coming around winter break that he knew something must have happened. It was the day after he’d left a desperate voicemail on Tony’s answering machine that he’d spotted the headline on the local paper in a gas station. He had dropped everything and rode to the mansion. He’d knocked and knocked, waited on the front stoop for hours, ignored the security guards. He’d come back every morning for a week hoping to be let in to see him. To make certain that Tony was in one piece. To kiss him, hold him, for as long as Tony needed to be but with each day it became clearer that Tony would never answer the door. Jarvis had stepped out a few times to give Bucky some tea or coffee and gently suggest that it would be best for everyone if Bucky went home until Tony was ready to talk. The young man had insisted on staying. It had been ten days before Jarvis had told him that Tony no longer wished to be associated with him anymore.  
Bucky still remembers the feeling of his young heart shattering the rest of the way. He remembers standing on that stoop staring stupidly into space as his mind tried to process the information--probably for hours. He remembers numbly swinging a leg over his bike and stopping to stare up at the one lit window at the front of the mansion, three stories up, and silently begging it to open.  
He’d ridden back home in the dark. Once he’d collected himself he’d trashed the small apartment he lived in, smashing the picture frame that held a photo of him and Tony sitting side by side at a picnic table. He’d flicked on a lighter and held it precariously close to the corner of the Polaroid. Despite his rage he never managed to actually ignite it.  
It’s probably still in one of his sister’s old albums somewhere. Mary is a sentimentalist after all. Bucky’d gone to the recruitment office a week after returning from Manhattan. The training was strenuous enough to keep his mind off of Tony. He avoided the boys when they wrote letters back home to their wives and sweethearts. He charmed the pants off of civies, quite literally, while on leave. He’d fiercely avoided falling for anyone since. He’s always endeavored not to think too hard about why. Steve’s never said anything aside from pointing out his carelessness sometimes but Bucky handled that with a dismissive wave and a bit of humor. Steve had never pushed, but his lips would thin whenever Tony’s name was mentioned. It didn’t affect his work for the Special Ops anyways. He’d been a runner up to Steve in his fame around the bases for getting shit done when it needed doing. He’s made some tough calls and pulled a few asses out of a few fires. He’s always been good at that. So he’d become a bit of a celebrity among the ranks. It got better, because no one would ask him why he didn’t try putting down roots anymore. He always had the excuse of being too busy, married to his career, which suited him just fine.  
Now though, he wonders if he hadn’t just been wasting time. He’d been a good-looking guy with a decent personality before this. Now he’ll just be another sob-story. Another dead-eyed wreck of a human being stepping out of an airbus to be pitied for two seconds before he was dismissed by the general public. Lucky to show up on one of those Wounded Warrior Fund commercials.  
It's enough to make him consider just eating his gun some days.  
The happy memories just torment him now with how damn unattainable that kind of joy will be from now on. He doesn’t tell the docs about his thoughts but he suspects that they know. Every sharp object and pill bottle is removed from his room or carefully watched until it’s taken away. The door goes locked from now on.  
At first it’s just going through the motions. He gets on that plane and takes the twelve-hour flight home. His mom cries when she sees him and wraps him in a hug that smells like oranges, cinnamon and flour. She’s warm and soft and he buries his face in her shoulder for who knows how long before she gives his sisters their turns. He goes to live with her and smashes a plate against the wall because the chicken parmesan she made him doesn’t taste the same as he remembers. She cries more and he storms off to the guest room, furious and ashamed.  
He apologizes the next day. The words barely come out past the lump in his throat. He repeats himself, over and over, because he’s not sure if he can ever say it enough. She’d warned him. She’d begged him not to enlist. Now she’s so damn strong, his mom. She clenches her jaw and and grasps his hand. She orders him to go to the VA and get the therapy he needs. He nods with a “Yes Ma’am.” And does just that.  
He gains weight. He goes through therapy. He tries. If not for his sake, then Steve's, or his mother’s and sisters’ sake. Every day he gets a little better. He starts doing it for himself.  
He still has his bad moments, days, weeks. Independence Day was a shitshow for example. He storms through his mother’s house, sidearm in his hand at the sound of fireworks. He overturns a table in the living room and takes cover behind it when a bottle rocket goes off near the house and bellows at his mom to stay in her room. When the night is over she comes out in a bathrobe and her pajamas looking exhausted and gently pries his hand off of the firearm. He can’t keep putting her through this. He doesn’t say as much but leaves the next night with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder and pair of sound-cancelling headphones on his ears just to be safe.  
He rents a pay-by-week apartment in a small town upstate and ignores her phone calls. He sends her texts to tell her that he’s okay whenever she sounds especially frantic. He sinks in on himself. Tries to forget everything about what he is and what he’s supposed to be. He escapes to the good memories again. He can’t think about Steve, who’s still over there in that horrible fucking desert-- alone, without Bucky to look after him. Instead he dwells on recollections of his sisters, his childhood, even Tony when he’s in a specifically masochistic mood. He finds a job as a mechanic’s aid in the small garage down on Main Street to supplement his checks from the VA. The owner’s a good sort of woman. Stocky, tough, and not afraid to get her hands dirty. Pamela pays him well, she teaches him with a gruff kind of patience until he’s more than capable of handling most repair jobs himself. She offers him the tiny house in the lot behind the store and gives him a good rental rate for it. He buys a beaten up Indian with the money left over and fixes it up with his new skills. He modifies the steering and brakes so that he can operate it with just his right arm and takes it out for a spin that leaves him in a fit of hysterical giggles in the end.  
He still visits the VA for therapy. The docs give him a plastic shit-imitation of an arm to strap over what’s left of his shoulder that looks like it belongs on a mannequin. He and the boys down at the garage crack jokes about it. He earns himself the nickname Sergeant Lefty and occasionally chases Tom’s (one of the other mechanics) little twin girls around with it when they drop by with their mom just so he can enjoy their giggles and squeals of fake terror. He does better and starts calling his mom again. She cries but she seems happy this time when he tells her about the little life he’s carved out for himself. It’s been weeks since his hand’s twitched towards his hip for the pistol that wasn’t there. He still gets a jolt from the odd back-firing car, loud clang, or random dog barking. But he doesn’t slip into fight-or-flight so quickly anymore either. Still the nightmares make sure that he gets a maximum of about three hours of sleep per night.  
He meets with a man named Sam who talks him through everything. He gives Bucky suggestions and assignments to keep him on the straight and narrow. Tells him not to rush, because he might skip over something important. At the very least, Bucky can understand the need to be thorough. He can’t help but want to hurry up the process though. He wants to tackle the fucking Soldier in his head once and for all. He wants to be someone who only makes his mother smile, someone who his sisters don’t feel the need to watch carefully when he’s with their children, someone who can help Steve start down this path too once he comes back.  
He wants to feel like a person again.  
He starts hanging out with the guys from the garage outside of work. It’s when they’re out for burgers and beer that Bucky catches sight of the headline on the muted TV above the bar. Tony Stark Abducted In Routine Weapons Presentation. Bucky feels something cold sink into his stomach. Jack, one of the boys, asks Bucky what's up. He ignores him and keeps reading the captions flashing across the screen. Violent abduction, eleven dead, three severely wounded. Tony Stark not found. Officials searching.  
It’s the first time in months, maybe years that he wishes that he were back out there. There’s an urgent need to leave. To get on the closest plane to Afghanistan. To brave that desert because Tony’s out there. It doesn't matter right now, that Tony’s changed. It doesn’t matter that he’s become a cocky playboy living it up while Bucky did his best to pretend that he wasn’t still broken up over him even after a decade or so. He’d always been able to go on, reassured that Tony was safe and comfortable. Now Tony might be dead. Bucky’s mind reels back to the last day spent on Tony’s stoop. What if he’d stayed just one more day?What if he’d just ignored Jarvis, pushed past him into the house and sought out Tony like he’d always wanted to?  
He excuses himself hurriedly and gives Steve a call on the walk home.

Tony’s made a lot of mistakes in his life. He’s aware enough of himself enough to admit that he’d probably held onto a lot of things he’d be better off without and gotten rid of things that he should have kept. Not in the least was his integrity. He used to be so goddamn idealistic. Always looking ahead to a brighter future. Always planning his part in the next big leap for mankind. He wondered when it had all slipped away.  
When he was young the fact that his company dealt mostly in weapons manufacturing was just that, a fact. He hadn’t bothered too much with it, convincing himself that he’d eventually use it to springboard into other, more altruistic projects. Then somehow, that had turned into a form of apathy that he rationalized with the half-hearted belief that he was protecting the men and women in the armed forces. He’d lose himself in another project, in booze, in willing bodies until finally the ideals he’d held close had been blotted out by everything else.  
Yinsen had pulled them back with the tales of his village and the long, tense pauses between each story, signifying a death or multiple deaths caused indirectly by Tony’s carelessness.  
He’d been softer no-- he’d been stronger when he was that wide-eyed kid who was just learning the ropes when it came to his company. The guilt that crashed in around him brought memories back of when he should have stood his ground-- When he should have said or done something else-- until it was too late.  
What does he have to show for the life he’s lived?  
As if reading his thoughts Yinsen asks “What do you have to go back to?”  
Tony is about to give the automatic response, his company, of course. Yinsen clarifies “Friends? Family?”  
He has Rhodey and Pepper but they worked with or for him first. As far as family goes he has the bots and JARVIS. But that doesn’t seem enough of an answer. He wonders if he’s ever had something like that in another human being. Howard and his mom, yeah, but no one he explicitly chose for himself-- then he stops and a face swims to the surface. Roguish and grinning with warm eyes that make his heart do all sorts of unhealthy things.  
He remembers Bucky. Even after ten years his memory makes something in Tony’s heart lurch. Then again that might be the magnet in his sternum-- There was no way… not after all this time.  
He can remember the fight he’d had with his father just two days before the crash. Howard had discovered just who Bucky was to him that day and reamed Tony out for his ridiculous, childish feelings. He had responsibilities. He had to save himself for someone who could do the name ‘Stark’ justice. Not dally his time away with some plebeian. Or so Howard had said. Tony remembers his mother pulling him into her arms shortly after both of the Stark men had stormed off. She’d told him that Howard was just trying to look after him in his own way. Tony had scoffed at the time and he still remembers her slight frown. She too had told him that perhaps it was time to let the other boy go.  
Even during the phone call that night Tony hadn’t told Bucky about it. He’d stubbornly flirted and chatted with the other boy who was so easy to love. The one simple thing in his life. He’d never intended to let him go.  
But then he had. Hell, it was practically his parent’s dying wish. Jokes on them, he supposes. He’d still never found anyone who he could care about like Bucky-- to “ally” with as Howard would say. But by the time he’d realized that it had already been nearly a year after he had all but kicked the guy off of his front porch without so much as doing it to Bucky’s face. He’d called the Barnes household exactly once only for it to picked up by Annette, Bucky’s second oldest sister. She’d never liked him so it wasn’t much of a surprise that she’d told him with no small amount of relish that Bucky was too busy with Basic to deal with the likes of him anymore. Or something to that effect. Tony had hung up feeling his heart in his throat. He never tried calling again after that.  
So he’d thrown himself into work-- Into doing everything he could to meet his dead father’s expectations and still felt like the old man was scowling in his grave.  
Everything was such a fucking mess after that. Tony drank and partied and did all that he could to ignore the goddamn feelings that came knocking whenever he was unoccupied. He’d taken over the company and the rest was history.  
Finally he answers “No.” to Yinsen’s question.  
“A man who has everything and nothing.” The older man states with a sad, wry twist to his lips. Tony turns away to work further on his design for their escape feeling his heart thumping against the reactor in his chest. If he makes it out of this he’s going to find Bucky even if it's just to accept the man’s “fuck you” straight to his face.

Tony blinks his eyes as he stares up at his best friend. “How was the fun-vee?” Rhodey asks, because Rhodey’s a perfect human being. Tony summons a laugh from he doesn’t know where. There's a man standing behind him staring down at Tony with an oddly familiar face. But as Tony peers at him for a closer look he turns away and starts barking orders at the other soldiers swarming the area. His voice is familiar too, but Tony’s not certain where he’s heard it before.

Bucky sees it on the news. After three horrible months he sees footage on the TV of Tony Stark stepping out of a plane: sunburned, bruised, with his arm in a sling, and Bucky sobs with relief. Thank God he’s alone. He sounds like a loon with his hysterical laughter and loud sobs of pure relief. He rakes his hand over his face and tunes into the TV again, just to see Tony’s face. He nearly swats at the screen when it flicks away to the anchorwoman again and waits impatiently as she notifies him that there's breaking news of a press conference called by Tony himself.  
He watches avidly as the man speaks from behind a podium. Then chuckles as Tony sinks down to sit with his back against it and motions everyone else in the room to sit down too, cheeseburger in hand.  
“What happened in Afghanistan?” A reporter asks.  
“I had my eyes opened.” Tony says. “I realized that the weapons that I was making to protect our armed men and women in the front lines were being used against them.” Bucky holds his breath. There. There he is-- Proud, strong, and so brave, ready to take on the whole damn world-- the guy he’d fallen in love with so long ago. “I had become comfortable with a system of zero-accountability. And so, I am announcing that Stark International is pulling out of the weapons manufacturing business. Effective immediately.” The entire room goes crazy. The back of someone’s head blocks the camera but moves just in time for Bucky to spot the older man all but dragging Tony off of the stage.  
Bucky huffs in giddy surprise “You tell ‘em, Bright Eyes.”

Steve’s back Stateside. He’s found a place in Brooklyn that he thinks will suit them both pretty well. He seems to take it as a given that Bucky will join him back in the city. Bucky allows it, supposing that Steve just needs his friend. So Bucky says goodbye to the friends he’s made in his little town and promises not to be a stranger.  
They move into the small two-bedroom above a frou-frou coffee shop and Bucky hopes to God that he’s enough. Aside from the rigid hug Steve clasps him in the man is all hard edges. He doesn’t slip into flashbacks like Bucky had once done but it’s easy to see that he’s practically vibrating with tension under the strain. Steve hardly smiles. He wakes up at 4 every morning, makes his bed, goes on a run, washes up, then heads off to work. Bucky doesn't pretend that he isn’t worried. He tries to wrangle Steve into going out to a bar, just to break the guy’s routine, but Steve turns him down every time.  
It’s two months in when Steve finally loses it. Bucky left an empty pop can on the coffee table. He storms into Bucky’s room with the thing crushed in his hand, looking livid. He bellows about tidiness. Respect for their living quarters. He calls Bucky “Soldier” more than once throughout his tirade and Bucky listens, filled with silent tension yes, but also relief. He’s been watching Steve wearing at the seams for what feels like a small eternity. Even if he’s taking the brunt of it now he can’t help but feel a little happy about the man letting some of that out. Steve cleans and cleans. Bucky calls Sam when he leaves for work the next day. The latter tells him to bring Steve to the next meeting.  
Bucky tries but it’s a few weeks before Steve actually agrees to attend. Thankfully the subject of that day’s meeting is the first step of the program, understanding that you don’t have to go through the rest of your life expecting a warzone to erupt into existence at every turn.  
Steve doesn't talk at group. He just glowers at the floor but him just being there makes Bucky feel a bit warmer around the eyes.  
His anxious thoughts of Tony drift to the back burner for a while in favor of helping Steve adjust to normal life again. It’s slow and they fight loud enough to have the cops called on them a couple of times. Bucky punches his hand through a wall once and pulls it away in stunned silence when he looks at the hand which surprisingly isn’t broken. Steve has already stormed off to his room and Bucky, having enough for the night, doesn’t pursue him.  
The next day they talk it over quietly like the adults they are. At the end he pulls a stiff Steve into a tight hug when the man says that it’s alright if Bucky wants him to move out. “I don’t wanna be anywhere but with you, Punk. ‘Til the end of the line.”  
Steve wipes his eyes and nods. He yanks Bucky in for a much better hug and holds him tight for what feels like nearly a quarter of an hour. Bucky holds him back just as fiercely.  
They both still have their bad days but at least they each have an understanding that neither will leave when it gets tough. Steve opens up at group and acquiesces to meet Sam for private sessions.  
Things are good.

The ordeal with his weapons takes longer to resolve than Tony hoped it would. Obie’s dead, Pepper’s frazzled, and a creepy robot of a man named Coulson keeps slipping past JARVIS’s clearance to give him little messages from some director of a shady government intelligence agency. Tony’s life has gotten pretty strange but he straps in and gets ready for the ride. He makes a new, better suit that’ll do his press-granted moniker justice and busts up bad guys when he can.  
He starts in on all of those sidelined projects. His company becomes the biggest name in green energy and medical technological innovation. He aims many of his creations towards water purification and recovery from traumatic injury. He designs revolutionary prosthetics and builds less expensive medical equipment. He kickstarts fundraisers for war orphans and veterans. He bashes skulls sometimes when there’s a dire situation the military can’t or won’t interfere with. His work takes priority and even with the loneliness that creeps in sometimes he feels just the slightest bit fulfilled by it.  
He’ll find his mind wandering though. The feel of warm hands on his back, in his hair, on his face. Two smiling mouths pressed together. While strong, long fingers touch and hold him like he’s something precious, someone loved. He dismisses the thoughts most of the time but the hunger that comes with them always lingers.  
Tony feels an ache in his bones when he takes the time to dwell on it. He ignores it, like he’s so practiced at doing, in favor of whatever project’s mapped out on his screens.  
The ache’s stronger tonight, and even a sip or two of his strongest booze isn’t enough to get rid of it. On a whim he looks up Bucky’s info. Snoops through leasing records. He’s living with someone. Two-bedroom, thank God. He feels the air leave him when he sees Bucky’s army documents-- when he sees the medical jargon detailing Bucky’s injury.  
It solidifies something within him. Even if Bucky never wants anything ever to do with Tony again, Tony can at least do this much. He flicks the screen full of Bucky’s personal information to the side and brings up a blank screen. He has work to do.

Steve lets out a soft gasp when Bucky opens and closes the metallic hand as smoothly as if it were his own God-given flesh and blood. Bucky makes no sound, his face doesn’t change. He’s just in awe of it. It whirs slightly as he swings his arm around but everything moves smoothly. He reaches out with it and runs it across the vinyl of the examination table and feels the pressure if not quite the texture. It’s perfect.  
“Thanks, Tony.” He finally says through a smile, so softly that no one else can hear him.  
Steve takes him out for burgers. Later in the week Bucky shows up at his new job and is immediately given work on an ancient Pontiac. He laughs and smiles, making quick friends with the other fellas in the shop. Only the secretary asks about his arm. He doesn’t flinch when he looks down at it and says. “Oh my God how th’ heck did that get there!?” It earns him a laugh.

Bucky’s checking the mail the next day, finding something with the Maria Stark Foundation stamp on it. There’s another in there for Steve. He opens his and reads it through a few times.

Tony wishes he could be in his workshop. The room’s full of white caps and blue uniforms with varying amounts of multicolored metal pinned to their chests. It's part of the Veterans Benefit Association and while it's easy to schmooze the polished officials in their tuxes and dinner gowns it’s a bit more difficult to interact with the many, many men and women who clump together in small groups to share stories or talk about life stateside.  
Pepper roped him into coming on pain of pain. He wasn’t allowed to duck out until at least 9:30. Thankfully he’s managed to talk everyone out of forcing him to give a speech. He’s pretty sure that no matter how many monologues his PR team wrote it would all just come across as pompous prattling from a stupid rich boy. Instead the speaker is a tall buff blond with mile-wide shoulders and a Medal of Honor pinned to his chest. He’s familiar for some reason. He looks a bit tense but public speaking isn’t for everyone. When he’s finished the vets are grim-faced and a tension hovers over the room. Tony takes a moment to figure out what this feeling actually is. He nearly laughs at himself when he realizes that it’s profound respect. Pepper whispers in his ear as everyone claps that the speaker is Captain Steve Rogers, a renowned war hero. It’s a somewhat subtle way to prod Tony into talking to him at least once tonight. The name rings a bell. He’s not certain where he’s heard it before.  
Tony walks up to Capt. Rogers once he’s mostly alone. There’s another man who has his back to Tony chatting quietly with the good captain. He has his white cap under his arm and a drink in his hand.  
“Excuse me.” Tony interrupts politely as he comes level with the two men. Pepper would be proud. “Tony Stark,” He introduces holding his hand out. The Captain’s eyebrows rise but automatically takes Tony’s hand. Feeling awkward Tony starts to talk before their hands even part. “Just wanted to thank you for your service.” He babbles, the man’s expression makes him uncomfortable. His eyes are searching Tony’s face, lips thin. “That was a helluva speech. Better than what my PR team could do anyways. You have a gift yeah-- Hey if being a war hero doesn’t work out I can give you a job, I can give you their jobs! All of--”  
“Tony?” The voice is familiar and the interruption is a blessing. Captain Steve Rogers is making him incredibly uncomfortable with the staring. He turns to greet the man who spoke.

And he freezes.

“Heya, Bright Eyes.” Bucky’s smiling back into Tony’s wide-eyed stare like he’s hung the sun in the sky. Bucky's all warm blue eyes that look too old in his face and full smirking lips-- it makes Tony’s battered heart ache.  
He just stares at that face, his hand hanging stupidly in the space between them. Joy and anxiety swell in Tony’s chest in equal overwhelming measure. Two hands take his, one warm and dry the other hard and cold but both are unerringly gentle-- Like Tony’s is precious.  
It takes longer than it should for he genius to remember that he has a mouth. He’s transfixed by that smile. That chin. That nose. Those eyes. But that’s okay because Bucky’s looking back at him like he’s the only person in the room and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Tony feels his eyes prickle and a smile threatening to split his face in two.  
After a small eternity his mouth catches up with his mind. “Hey there, Troublemaker.”


End file.
